


The Things We See

by ilcuoreardendo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossroads, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Demon Deals, Episode: s01e12 Faith, Kissing, M/M, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Pre-Slash, Sam-Centric, Sassy Gabriel, Season/Series 01, demon!Gabriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 01:05:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3230432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilcuoreardendo/pseuds/ilcuoreardendo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean is in the hospital after being electrocuted, Sam looks for a way to save his brother. (Canon divergence upon S1, Ep12, “Faith.”)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>In the circle of a Devil’s Trap, in the center of a crossroads, Sam Winchester thought of his brother lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to a heart monitor. He heard Dean’s voice again. “Sammy, don’t go doing something stupid.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things We See

**Author's Note:**

> A "what if" stemming from Season 1. Originally written and posted at my [Tumblr](http://ilcuoreardendo-fic.tumblr.com). Minor changes before posting here.

* * *

_**Dean:** You know what I've got faith in? Reality. Knowing what's really going on._

_**Sam:**  How can you be a skeptic? With the things we see everyday?_  
  
_**Dean:**  Exactly. We see them, we know they're real._

1.12, "Faith"

* * *

 

 

In the circle of a Devil’s Trap, in the center of a crossroads, Sam Winchester thought of his brother lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to a heart monitor. He heard Dean’s voice again. “Sammy, don’t go doing something stupid.”

Sam supposed this would rank high on Dean’s List of Stupid, but he didn’t care. Sam stuffed the small, creaking leather bound book into his coat pocket, took a moment to wonder at the serendipity at such a find just days before he needed it. Then he closed the lid of the tin in his hand and knelt next to the hole he’d dug in the center of the trap.

Before he could place the ritual items, the world went quiet. 

The wind died, the crickets stopped singing, and even the rush of the nearby creak seemed muted. He’d only ever heard the world so still once, just before a tornado had torn through the little town he and Dean had been stopped in.

This silence was broken not by the scream of a storm but the sudden whisper of fabric, the clucking of a tongue and and a somewhat nasally voice saying, “I wouldn’t.”

Sam drew himself up straight, left hand holding the box near his leg, the right going for the gun at his back. 

A man stepped away from the tree line, peeling himself out of the shadows as though he were made of them. His clothes were black. Traces of silver gleamed at the cuffs and collar of his shirt. His eyes gleamed gold in the late afternoon light. He paced the perimeter of the trap, toes coming to rest at the very edge of the circle.

"Wouldn’t what?" Sam said. 

"Make a deal with those swindlers." He grinned, wide and sharp. "It’s not worth it. Sure, sure. They might grant you your heart’s desire. But it’s for a limited amount of time and then…." The man made a whistling noise and with his hands mimicked something falling. "Forever in the Pit. That’s not what you want. Is it? Sam?"

Sam’s fingers tightened on the gun. “How do you know my name?” 

The man’s laugh trickled up Sam’s spine “Sam. I know all  _sorts_  of things. I know your girlfriend got roasted on the ceiling.”

Sam steadied the gun, pointing it directly at the man’s head. The man’s eyes flicked to it and back, unconcerned. 

"I know you’ve been looking to get your own back. And I  _know_  you’ve got a big brother who’s been helping you and now he’s gone and got himself pan seared and you’re looking to keep his chips in play, after that whole faith-healer-reaper fiasco. And here you are….”

Gold eyes wandered from Sam’s feet up to his face, slowly, appraisingly. Sam’s skin itched with the weight of the gaze. 

"Looking to make a deal," the man finished. "You’re so earnest. So sweet. You’ll be a favorite chew toy.”

"That’s my problem," Sam said, grip tightening on the gun. "Yours is you’re keeping me from what I need to do. So why don’t you, whoever—whatever—you are, get gone and let me do what I came here for.”

The man laughed again, low, derisive. He stepped into the gun, stepped into the circle. Sam’s eyes flicked to the ground, watched the lines of the Devil’s Trap turn bright red, like hot coals, before vanishing.

Sam drew a breath, steadied the gun, squeezed the trigger. The shot shattered the silence. Warm, wet blood splattered against Sam’s arms and his shirt as the bullet made contact.

The thing—any thought of it being a man was now removed from Sam’s mind—in front of him grunted, gave a little shudder and grinned that rictus grin. His gold eyes flickered like static-noise on a TV station and turned a red so dark it was nearly black. He reached out and plucked the gun from Sam’s hand. “Oh, Sammy.  _Sammy_. This little toy can’t hurt me.” The gun vanished, lost in some trans-dimensional space for all Sam knew, and the demon rolled his shoulder, as if stretching the ligaments the bullet had torn through. “Mm. Fuck. You know how long it’s been since I’ve been shot?”

“You’re a demon.”

“Beauty and brains, hm?”

The demon straightened his shirt collar, took another step forward, into Sam’s personal space. He was short, the top of his head would brush beneath Sam’s nose, and part of Sam found that funny, even absurd. The part that wasn’t busy doing everything to keep from giving ground, anyway. And maybe he imagined it, but Sam thought the demon might’ve looked impressed.

“You pegged me, kid. I love a good pegging. But that’s another conversation. Yes. I’m a demon. But not the average pissant Crossroads Demon you were about to summon. I’m way above their pay grade. But I can make you a very fine deal. And it won’t come with a 10 year expiration date. Though it will ask more of you than just your soul.” The demon cocked his head. “Interested?”

“What’s the more?”

“Just a few simple tasks.” The demon gave a one shouldered shrug.

“No having me kill my brother,” Sam said. “Or other innocents. Nothing that goes against  _who_  I am. ”

The demon snorted, dark eyes rolling, but gave a nod of agreement.

“I want Dean’s life,” Sam continued, “his health, everything restored. No tricks. No “Monkey’s Paw” shit. ”

“Cross my heart. No literary inspired loopholes.” The demon drew his thumb over his chest in the sign of a cross. “It’s done.”

“So now…you take my soul?”

“Mmm, no. More like tag it for layaway, Sammy. Or slap a big old metaphysical label on it marked “Property of Gabe.”

 “And then what?”

“And then,” the demon drew out the word, “you go about your business. Your “Family Business.” You do what you do. Until I come to you and tell you your task. And that could be at any time, any place.”

“Got it.”

“Then let’s seal this deal, Sammy!” The demon grinned, his eyes flickering, returning to the gold they were when he first approached Sam.

And Sam, beginning to think this demon grinned far too much for a creature from hell, said “okay,” and went to offer his hand.

The demon raised an eyebrow. “Dusty old book didn’t mention the sealing part, did it? It takes more than a handshake.”

Sam’s face twisted. 

The demon laughed. “Not  _that_  much more, though, hey….if you’re game. No? All right. Then pucker up, kiddo.”

“You’re joking.”

“I never joke about deal sealing.” From his pocket, the demon drew a small canister of what looked like Binaca and spritzed it into his open mouth.

Sam took a breath, bent tentatively at the waist and was completely unprepared for the steel-strong arms closing around him, the thin lips that pressed against his. Sam dropped the tin (how he’d held onto it this long, he wasn’t sure), grasped the demon’s arms with both hands but couldn’t make it budge.

The demon tasted like fake cinnamon, but beneath the chemical compounds of breath spray, he was dark and bitter and hot. His tongue swept into Sam’s mouth and Sam jerked away only to be kept in place by a hand at the back of his head. The tongue curled, scraped hard over Sam’s teeth and Sam tasted salt, copper. Blood. He’d tasted enough of his own in his lifetime. It trickled hot over his tongue, down his throat, made him choke.

The demon pulled back, clapped his hands around Sam’s face, licked once more over Sam’s lips, leaving a trail of spit and blood. His eyes flashed gold then carnelian. “See you soon, Sammy,” he said, and vanished.

Sam, staring at the space where the demon had been, wiped his lips, coughed and spat. The taste of blood and cinnamon was still rich in his mouth. Picking up the dropped tin, he remembered there was a bottle of water in the Impala and started for it when his phone rang. His brother was on the other line.

“Dean? You’re okay! Minor miracle? Yeah!” He threw the no longer needed tin into the back of the car. He’d clean it out when he got to the hospital. “Me?  _No_ , Dean.” Sam glanced around at the empty crossroads. “I just needed some air. I’m on my way back now.”


End file.
